The Tiger’s Wrath (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 5)

by Marc Edelheit

  Stiger picked up one of the tablets, examining it. He handed it over to Ikely for his review. “They are seriously understrength.”

  “Are you certain you want to do this, sir?” Ikely asked, with a quick glance at the tablet. He tapped it with a finger. “There could be some resentment amongst the men.”

  “That might be,” Stiger said. “However, disbanding the garrison companies makes good sense. Besides, they will be joining the Thirteenth, an elite formation. That should help mitigate any discord.” Stiger picked up another tablet from the table and gestured at it. “Ninth Cohort has existed in name only for a very long time too.”

  “Since just before you joined the legion, sir,” Salt said.

  “That’s right,” Stiger said, suddenly reminded of the raid on the valley. The cohort had been ambushed and almost completely wiped out by orcs. He felt a stab of pain at the memory, for that had happened on the same day Sarai had been killed. Stiger set the tablet down and picked up another that showed the strength totals for the garrison companies. Ikely peered at it.

  “As it now stands,” Stiger said, “after the fighting retreat on Castle Vrell and the battle with the orcs before Old City, the garrison companies are badly understrength. For all intents and purposes, they are now little better than light companies. First their senior officers were killed by Captain Aveeno and then most of their sergeants and corporals were lost in the fighting that followed, which makes their condition even worse.”

  Stiger set the tablet back down on the table, looking over at Ikely. “I don’t want to have to rebuild the command structure of each individual company. We don’t have the time for that. Consolidating them into the Ninth makes it easier on us. By doing it this way, I have to only appoint one senior centurion to command the Ninth, along with three junior centurions…instead of several commanding officers, not to mention finding them executive officers. Hard feelings aside, I don’t see that we have a choice but to consolidate them. We’re cut off from the empire, which means we’re not getting reinforcement.” Stiger paused for a long moment. “We are on our own and my mind is made up. We will roll them together and reform the Ninth.”

  “If I recall my history correctly, cohorts generally number about four hundred and eighty men, sir.” Ikely leaned forward and picked up the tablet detailing the strength of Ninth Cohort from the neatly stacked pile. “The current strength totals for the legion show the Ninth with slightly under one hundred men. There are nearly five hundred between the garrison companies. Is the Ninth to be an overstrength cohort?”

  “Might I suggest,” Salt said, speaking up, “that we instead fill out First Cohort’s numbers, bringing them back up to near full strength, and use the remainder to reform the Ninth?”

  Stiger gave that some thought. He had been thinking the overflow would be spread about the legion. He picked up another tablet, showing First Cohort’s strength totals. Sabinus’s boys had been heavily involved in the recent fighting. They had taken over three hundred casualties. One hundred ninety-two had been terminal. The loss of so many good men, especially from First Cohort, the legion’s best, was distressing. What Salt was suggesting made sense and would bring the First back up to not quite full strength as the legion’s only double strength cohort, but close.

  “We will bring the Ninth up to four hundred men,” Stiger said, looking over at Salt. “The rest can go to the First.”

  “Sir,” Salt said, “I am sure you know, customarily, the First gets the pick of veterans from the legion. This move will be unorthodox.”

  “Now,” Stiger said, “I am thinking, is not the time to shake up the rest of the cohorts by pulling their best men and assigning them to the First.”

  “My thoughts exactly, sir,” Salt said. “I believe Sabinus will understand too. Now, the big question…who shall command the Ninth? Who do you want as senior centurion, sir?”

  “Since we’re folding up the garrison companies, Lieutenant Brent will have that honor,” Stiger said. “Salt, you don’t know the lieutenant, do you?”

  “I’ve not yet had the pleasure, sir,” Salt said.

  “He showed his mettle in fighting the Cyphan and then against the orcs,” Stiger said. “He’s a good man and solid under pressure.”

  “Yes, sir,” Salt said. “Do you intend to give him the rank of captain or senior centurion?”

  “For consistency with the legion’s current rank structure, and to avoid confusion, he will be promoted to senior centurion,” Stiger said. “Now, we’ll need someone seasoned for his second. I’d prefer a candidate from the Thirteenth. Have anyone in mind that might be a good fit?”

  “Trentonius,” Salt said without hesitation. “He’s an eighteen-year veteran, sir, knows his numbers, letters, and is as steady as they come.”

  “Trent?” Stiger said, thinking on what he knew of the man. Trentonius was a tall, burly man. Stiger remembered a rugged, weathered face, with a jagged scar on his chin. Beyond that, Stiger could not recall much more. “He’s in Third Cohort, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Salt said. “Fourth Century. A few years back, before I was appointed camp prefect, he served as my optio. He’s hard as a nail and unflappable as they come. It will be a good opportunity for him to move up the ladder and prepare, ultimately, for a cohort of his own.”

  Stiger understood Salt’s meaning. The centurionate were known for taking heavy casualties. It was a fact of life in the legions. Centurions and officers were expected to set the example, especially when it came to a fight. They led from the front. They were the toughest of the tough and promoted not only for their intelligence but also their aggressiveness. As such, they were feared by their own men, but also respected. The centurions were the glue that held the legion together, no matter how difficult things got. As long as they stood firm, the legion stood firm.

  He eyed his camp prefect a moment more. Salt was an old veteran. Having risen from the ranks, he was a soldier’s soldier, and yet he was also politically adept. He’d led a distinguished career and achieved the coveted position of camp prefect, making him the third highest-ranking officer in the legion. That was, if the legion still had a senior tribune. Stiger realized Salt was gently reminding Stiger of the need to prepare for the loss of senior officers. The coming campaign might see multiple vacancies in short order.

  “You are right,” Stiger said, blowing out a breath. “Put together a list of men you think would make good cohort commanders. Start giving them extra jobs and responsibilities. Let’s see how they do. If we need one in a pinch, I want to be ready.”

  “Yes, sir,” Salt said. “Concerning the Ninth, what of the junior centurions? Do you want me to forward a list of men I deem fit? Or should I save you some time, sir? I can make the appointments and promote deserving optios up the ladder to centurion, if you wish.”

  “Promote men you feel as needed,” Stiger said, for he trusted Salt’s instincts implicitly. Besides, his camp prefect knew the men better than he did. “Run the list by me after you’ve done it, so I know who’s been given the nod.”

  “I will have that for you in the morning, sir,” Salt said.

  Eli gave a shift of his feet and glanced over briefly to Taha’Leeth. Some unspoken communication passed between the two of them. Stiger supposed both elves had become bored with the proceedings.

  “What of the garrison’s cavalry company?” Ikely asked.

  “I’ve already spoken with Lieutenant Cannol,” Stiger said. “He will organize his cavalry under the legion’s mounted wing, along with Lan’s troop. Prefect Hux will command all of our mounted soldiers.”

  “Prefect Hux?” Ikely said. “I don’t know him, sir.”

  “He came back with me. He’s experienced and knows his business,” Stiger said. “You won’t find a man more suited to commanding horse soldiers than Hux.”

  “As an infantryman,” Salt said to Ikely, “I have a ready disdain for the cavalry. Hux and his boys are the rare exception. At times, he can even be a little too a
ggressive, if that’s possible.”

  Ikely gave a nod, then hesitated a moment, before asking, “What of Stiger’s Tigers, sir?”

  Stiger read the hope within his former executive officer’s eyes. It was clear the lieutenant wanted a command of his own. He could not fault him for that. He regarded Ikely for a long moment, considering him. Stiger had different plans for him, something that was more important, demanding, and, he suspected, would prove incredibly challenging. The job he wanted Ikely to do would be vital to the coming campaign, and Stiger was unwilling to trust anyone else with it.

  Stiger’s thoughts shifted back to his old company. Though they were understrength, the Eighty-Fifth was seasoned and experienced. He’d personally trained and then led them through the fighting retreat to Castle Vrell. They had fought with distinction and honor. They were exceptional killers and he was proud of having had a hand in that.

  “For the moment, I want to keep them together,” Stiger said. “Should we have a need for special tasks, they will be it.”

  “And the commander?” Ikely pressed.

  “Centurion Blake shall retain command,” Stiger said, “with Ranl as his second.”

  Ikely gave an unhappy nod that was filled with clear disappointment. But he did not argue. The lieutenant knew his commander. The decision had been made.

  “I have other plans for you, Ikely,” Stiger said, struggling to suppress a grin of pleasure at what he was about to do.

  “You do, sir?”

  “I do,” Stiger said and hesitated another long moment, intentionally dragging it out. Ikely shifted his stance from one foot to another as he waited. “I am promoting you to senior tribune of the legion.”

  “Tribune?” Ikely asked, blinking several times. “Senior tribune? That is the equivalent to a colonel. That’s quite a jump. Can you do that, sir?”

  “Yes,” Stiger said. “Well, as a brevet promotion. It would need to be confirmed by the emperor or senate. The fact is, the legion’s short on tribunes. I’ve only had Severus here to act as my aide. I am also missing a second in command. Tribune Arvus was killed before I took command of the legion, so you get the job.”

  “Tribune Arvus was a good man,” Salt said to Ikely. “You have big sandals to fill, son.”

  Ikely gave a solemn nod.

  “You’ve proved yourself in battle,” Stiger said, “and as a leader of men. More important, like Salt, I value your judgment. You are now my second in command. End of the discussion.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ikely said. The disappointment had vanished. In its place was barely contained excitement. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Congratulations, sir,” Severus said and offered his hand. Ikely took it. Looking a little dazed, he shook.

  “Moving up in this world, old boy,” Eli said and clapped Ikely on the shoulder. “I am certain your new rank will come with all kinds of responsibilities and headaches.”

  “There is no doubt about that,” Ikely said, “and knowing the captain, er…the legate, he will expect miracles out of me.”

  “I will,” Stiger confirmed as he glanced over at Salt, whose face expressed no emotion whatsoever. An argument could have been made for the position of senior tribune going to Salt. The camp prefect had a lot of experience behind him. That was exactly why Stiger wanted Salt in a combat role, not a staff position.

  Stiger had informed Salt of his decision to promote Ikely a short while earlier. To his credit, Salt had not objected in the slightest. He suspected the old veteran preferred to remain where he was, as a fighting soldier. Salt knew where he stood with Stiger, and it was time Ikely understood the camp prefect’s importance as well.

  “Thank you, sir,” Ikely breathed.

  “You’re welcome.” Stiger gestured toward Salt. “The camp prefect here has a great deal more experience in the field than you do. He has put in a lifetime of service. Should he deem, at any point, to offer you advice, I expect you to listen. Then make certain you heed what he has to say, particularly when it comes to fighting. He has my trust and he should have yours as well. Do we understand each other, Tribune?”

  Ikely glanced over at Salt, who stood stone-faced. “I do, sir.”

  “Good.” Stiger began gathering up the wax tablets. He handed one to Ikely. “When we are done here, see that the clerks issue the appropriate orders for the garrison companies and Ninth Cohort. I want their camps consolidated as soon as possible. Salt will handle the appointment of the junior centurions and I will personally speak with Brent prior to his assumption of command.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ikely said. “Consider it done.”

  Stiger paused as he gathered his thoughts. “I will hold a meeting of the senior officers in the coming days to outline the initial steps of the campaign and how we will deal with the enemy on our doorstep.”

  Ikely rubbed the side of his jaw. “Can we handle the enemy by ourselves and without the dwarves? We will be heavily outnumbered, sir.”

  “Surprise will largely counter the enemy’s numerical advantage,” Stiger said. “Our move should catch them with their togas down around their ankles.”

  “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a toga?” Salt said, a grin spreading across his craggy face. “Over three hundred years, sir.”

  Ikely’s eyes snapped to Salt, as the realization once again seemed to smack home about the Thirteenth Legion and just where it had come from.

  “I think that joke is beginning to age,” Stiger said, “just like you, old boy.”

  “Very good, sir.” Salt’s grin became wider. “Now you’re getting into the spirit of things.”

  “Sir,” Ikely said, “you and I both know things never go to plan. Something always cocks them up.”

  “True,” Stiger said. “Still, I feel good about our chances. We have the advantage of surprise, ground of our choosing, and quality of men. I received word just before this meeting that the thane’s pioneers ambushed and overwhelmed a supply train along the Vrell road. They took two hundred wagons loaded with supply. The pioneers also captured prisoners and questioned them. It seems the bulk of the enemy’s army is comprised of rebels.”

  “They should still have a core of Cyphan regulars,” Taha’Leeth cautioned, “to give them backbone. But it is likely as you say. Most will be rebels. They are terrible soldiers, with little training and even less discipline. They were difficult to work with, prideful and overconfident. That overconfidence allowed you to slaughter them during your fighting retreat and likely will allow you to do it again.”

  Eli spoke up. “It is a bold plan. It has merit, and there is always the possibility with you that something will go wrong. Then we might get a little excitement.”

  “I could do without that, Eli,” Stiger said.

  Eli gave a half shrug of his shoulders.

  “I am thinking it is the Cyphan that will pose the real threat.” Eli looked over at Taha’Leeth. “Do you know how many are likely to be with the army?”

  “Before I came over to your side,” Taha’Leeth said, turning to face Stiger as she spoke, “there were more than six thousand Cyhpan slave soldiers with the army marching on Vrell. It is possible, once they reached the castle and it became clear a siege would be required, a goodly number marched away, leaving it to the rebels to keep us boxed in ‘til spring. As I understood it, the focus of the campaign was to be against the empire, crushing the legions and striking out toward Mal’Zeel. Vrell was a side show, but they ultimately wanted the castle and the garrison removed.”

  Stiger sucked in a breath at that. Mal’Zeel was a long way off, even for the Cyphan. Still, he knew why the enemy wanted Mal’Zeel. The emperor had what they needed to fulfill the prophesy, and they would not rest until they had it.

  “I had heard,” Taha’Leeth said, “the marshal was able to put together a grand army, over four hundred thousand strong, for dealing with your empire.”

  “Four hundred thousand?” Ikely asked, in a near gasp of surprise. “Not counting our present
army, I don’t think the empire fields that many legionaries. Maybe, if you add all the auxiliary cohorts up together, we might come close. That is a very large number to put into the field, let alone support it. Are you certain?”

  Stiger thought Ikely was on to something. Supply would be a real problem for a force that large.

  “We were slaves,” Taha’Leeth said. “The Cyphan did not confide in us. We went where we were told and did what we were told. You know what rumors are like in an army, yes?”

  Stiger gave a nod.

  “It could be an inflated number or not,” Taha’Leeth continued. “Still, the need for trained soldiers was great, and the generals, when the time came, apparently argued as to how many to send to Vrell. I, myself, heard Lord General Kryven complain about the lack of regulars available. What you consider regulars, the slave soldiers, are the heart of the Cyphan military. I cannot be sure how many remain on Vrell’s doorstep and how many are ill-trained rebels. Perhaps you will allow us to scout them and learn more?”

  “It is something I had planned on asking of you,” Stiger said to Taha’Leeth and Eli. “I need to know more of this army and their defenses.”

  Taha’Leeth gave a nod, as did Eli. “We are pleased to help in any way we can,” she said.

  Stiger shared a concerned glance with Salt. He certainly hoped the enemy’s invasion force was not as large as Taha’Leeth suggested. If it was even half that size, the empire was in serious trouble. One problem at a time, he reminded himself. Just focus on one bloody problem at a time.

  “Before I continue, are there any more questions on the plan so far?” Stiger asked.

  There were none.

  “Good.” Stiger turned his gaze squarely to Ikely and then to Severus. He rubbed his hands together. Despite the fire that crackled in the hearth a few feet away, with Taha’Leeth’s news, the room had lost much of its warm glow. Dog was still asleep and snoring softly by the fire, oblivious. Occasionally one of his legs would twitch as he dreamed of chasing something.